


My Dear, My Darling One (Shots)

by HighFunctioningSarah



Series: Forgive Us Now For What We've Done (Assorted Works) [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-16 11:01:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29081313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HighFunctioningSarah/pseuds/HighFunctioningSarah
Summary: A collection of abandoned parts for my fic, Forgive Us Now For What We've Done. They have mostly been abandoned due to continuity errors or changes in plot, but I love them too much to have them go completely scrapped. I hope you enjoy! Once again, the title was inspired by O Children by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Forgive Us Now For What We've Done (Assorted Works) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2133615





	My Dear, My Darling One (Shots)

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter is based from the timeline I had written for a plot line I chose to abandon in favour of a more exciting one. A bit vague, I know, but I'm trying to avoid spoilers! This one is particularly angsty, so be warned.

It felt as if every there were hundreds of crawling insects underneath her skin. She was ready to be sick, stomach churned and acidic. Exhausted, she reached for the doorhandle; a small tremor shook her hand. She clenched it into a fist and tapped her knuckles against the door lightly. Terrified of making too much noise, she stopped, rested her forehead against the door and begged Draco to answer, torn between turning back to her room and knocking again. The hallway seemed to grow smaller with each passing second, whispers drifted like condemning vows. Time seemed to pass excruciatingly slowly and enhanced her paranoia, the crawling sensation now spread across her back.

A soft click sounded from the handle and the door opened by a crack. Petra still leaned forward, eyes cast to the wooden flooring, unable to meet the gaze she knew was waiting on the other side. The door opened completely, silk pyjama pants in view. It gave her some sense of relief as she sucked in another breath. For a moment, an eerie silence engulfed the hallway, the whispers hushed like an extinguished flame. Unable to form the right words, or any words, really, Petra simply stood outside the doorframe. The shake extended from her hands to her shoulders. The sight caused Draco to reach out towards her wordlessly, and he wrapped an arm around her waist, pulled her inside the room and shut the door quietly closed with the other.

Once they were safely inside, he engulfed her in a hug. If it were any other time, it would have sent a flutter through her stomach, but she was too out of it to note much of what was happening. The rigid way she placed her head on his shoulder filled him with unease, but he did not dare disrupt the silence and whatever calm barely contained her. He was very mindful of how tightly to hold her and waited until the shaking stopped, one hand stroked through the hair on the back of her head soothingly. A light kiss was placed to her cold temple as the tension in her chest eased, his warmth a welcome comfort. Neither were sure of how long they stood like that.

The icy floorboards chilled Draco’s bare feet to the bone. Albeit reluctantly, he pulled away from Petra and cupped her cheek in hand, checking her for injuries. Next, his gaze skirted her neck, shoulders, arms, torso and then what was visible of her legs, finding each void of blemishes. It was then he realised her feet were also bare, toenails blue. It did not seem to bother her. The worrier within him caused him to grasp her wrist gently in hand and guide her to his bed. He sat her down, her gaze still cast downwards. Now that she was in view of the candlelight, he could see her lips were somewhat blue as well. He needed to warm her up. Worse still, her silence completely unnerved him. _Merlin_ , since when was Petra speechless?

The shadow of his girlfriend that sat in the room filled him with self-loathing. He had done this to her. He had dragged her into the situation with the Dark Lord and allowed her to stay at the Manor, and she was borderline unresponsive. It was all his fault.

As he checked her distant eyes for some sort of reaction, she finally looked up at him, unable to form a half-hearted smile. The desire to comfort her was overwhelming, and Draco found himself thinking of the many times she’d held him as he cried and whispered sweet nothings into his ear. The first thing she would do is make sure they had contact, somehow. The physical connection always seemed to anchor him. He had already held her in the doorway, hand now on her knee. He supposed that would have to do for now. Next, she would wait until he had regained some composure, though that seemed like a distant wish at that moment. What he could ensure, however, was that she was comfortable, and felt safe.

Peeling back the plush duvet atop his bed, Draco figured it would be best to hold her for as long as he could. The clothes she wore were damp from the rain outside, the chill now clung to them with a death grip. Tentatively, he tugged her cardigan from her shoulders, and when she offered no word of protest, he removed it and placed it on the armchair on the other side of the room. More carefully, he guided her to stand and unbuttoned her trousers. The process was methodical as she stepped out of her pants, and he avoided looking at her bare legs. It felt wrong, seeing her like this. She watched as he placed the trousers alongside her cardigan, a little life returned to her eyes. He managed a disheartened smile as he walked back over, the minute response giving him some relief. Hand extended a little from her body, she placed it on his waist and clutched his wrist in the other, head against his chest.

She didn’t need to speak for him to understand what she meant.

Twisted around, he gently brought her to lie on the bed, propped up against his chest. The duvet was brought up to rest just beneath her shoulders, the rhythm of their breaths evening out into the same rise and fall. It was terrifyingly intimate for Draco in a way that he had not experienced before, not a word exchanged between them. Instead, he brought a hand to trace small circles onto her bare shoulder, mind absorbed in the dense silence and the weight of her touch. It made him feel utterly useless and unable to help. Eventually, her jagged breaths evened out and a blanket of sleep covered her expression, now etched into a more peaceful slack. Draco took the moment to study her intently, as the dark thought that he may not see her so peaceful for some time entered his mind and refused to leave.

The next night was not dissimilar. A soft knock came from Draco’s door in the early hours of the morning. He already lied atop his mattress, completely awake and gaze fixed to the roof. Without a word, he brought Petra inside as she tightly wrapped her arms around his back, forehead buried into his chest.

A woman had been tortured that day in the drawing room. Draco lost count of how many times his Aunt Bellatrix subjected the middle-aged witch to the Cruciatus Curse – a cousin to the Squib and Order member, Arabella Figg, apparently. Her agonised screams rung through the room and lodged themselves in his gut. By the time it was over, she couldn’t utter a coherent sentence and had been thrown in the cellar downstairs. Draco didn’t want to know what his Aunt Bellatrix would do with her later. Petra had been there, stood near the mantle with a frighteningly neutral face. He hadn’t seen her like that since the beginning of fifth year. This time, the guarded expression faded even less, only to be replaced by terror or sadness, as if the very essence of her joy had been sucked out of the world. He supposed it had.

Their embrace was almost suffocating, Petra’s head now on his shoulder and placing quick, tearful kisses behind his ear. She mumbled sweet reassurances, though Draco suspected they were for her own comfort just as much as his. The fact that she was even speaking, that some form of desperation laced through her tone to disrupt the apathy she had adopted, jolted the young wizard from his haze. He was both too terrified to let her return to her room alone and too restless without her beside him. A lingering kiss was placed to her hairline.

“Stay.”

Petra met his gaze and managed a weak half-smile. “Of course.”

The next night, he charmed his bedroom door so that it would open as soon as Petra touched the handle. It was late again, and Draco was awake, but once the young witch had entered his room and crept into bed with him, sleep finally tugged at his eyes. The nightmares seemed to lessen when they were together, though there were still nights where Draco found himself lurching awake, wand clutched tightly and Petra’s hands on either side of his face. On worse nights, he would be the one holding her, and it broke his heart.

Draco’s self-loathing continued to grow as the days dragged on into weeks. The thought that he was the sole reason for Petra being there, that she had sacrificed her personal beliefs to _protect him_ … it festered like a wound. Worse still, she had trapped herself within a situation in which she could not speak with her friends or against the prejudices that were rampant, leave the Manor without cause or disobey the Dark Lord because it would result in the Malfoys, Draco included, being killed. As much as that would not be an unwarranted result, as his family had committed their own atrocities, he knew Petra would not allow it. Slowly, the neutrality she wore inside the Manor grew colder, while only behind the walls of his bedroom an occasional smile skirted her lips as she’d ghost her fingers down his arms or naked sides. Physical contact became their main means of communication, as words always seemed to revolve around the war. It was far easier to be lost in each other.

There was one night when Draco had wrapped his arms around her waist as they lied in bed, clutching Petra to his chest. As some form of mental respite, he had been reminiscing over their simpler years. Third year stood out far above the rest, right before his feelings for Petra had begun to manifest but just beyond his somewhat embarrassing and childish first two years. One day in particular swam in his mind as Petra traced circular patterns across his forearm in time to the rise and fall of her chest. Draco nestled his head into her shoulder and pressed a kiss to it.

“Do you remember that lesson in Lupin’s Defence Against the Dark Arts class when he had a real boggart in the staffroom?” Draco asked.

Petra hummed in response; eyes closed. She would have seemed content if Draco didn’t know any better.

“Were you afraid of being alone?” He asked tentatively. The circles that Petra had drawn halted and her eyes opened, caught off guard. She did not turn to face him, gaze fixed to the wall.

“Yes, I was.”

Draco placed another kiss to her shoulder, as if to reminder her that it was alright and that he was vulnerable too. “Are you still afraid?”

“I think I always will be.” She whispered.

It was the night of August twenty-fifth, exactly one week before the summer was over and the pair were issued their Head Boy and Girl badges, that Draco determined he would do anything to ensure that Petra made it out of the war without ending up alone, even if it killed him.


End file.
